


Gifts and Curses

by blue_eyes_incognito



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Castiel Angst, Dean Winchester Angst, M/M, POV Multiple, Rating May Change, Season/Series 08 Spoilers, Slashy, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-30
Updated: 2013-05-01
Packaged: 2017-12-10 00:03:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/779492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_eyes_incognito/pseuds/blue_eyes_incognito
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel and Dean feel only guilt for the pain they've caused to the ones they love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Some scenes and dialogue are pulled almost exactly from season 8 episodes. The point of nearly this whole thing is to add to the subtext, create a little canon-ish AU...all that fun stuff.
> 
> As of right now, the work is pretty PG, with a bit of occasional strong language in later chapters. This may change in the later chapters as I finish things up, and I will change the rating accordingly if the plot bunnies command it.
> 
> Also, I suck at titles and descriptions, so if you've got a better one of either, I'm taking suggestions. I came up with both on the fly after several drinks and without much consideration.

The day that Castiel pulled Dean Winchester out of Hell, he walked away from the only life he had ever known and onto a path that would lead to both his fall and later his descent into purgatory with the elder Winchester. But it was a more complicated story than that. Almost every night since he had raised Dean from Perdition, every night that he could, Castiel watched over him. More often than not, he'd stand invisible in the corner of whatever dank motel room or sit soundless and motionless in the back seat of the Impala as the Winchester brothers slept. His charge was to look after both of them, but as he got to know them, he learned that rescuing Dean from Hell had created a wordless bond between the two, more than could ever be achieved with the younger Winchester. 

As time went on, his continued presence was less to watch over the both of them and more just to watch Dean. He wasn't sure exactly when that change had occurred, but one night after Sam had left with Ruby and Dean slept alone in some middle-of-nowhere motel, Castiel made himself corporeal and sat on the bed next to the lightly snoring elder Winchester. Every night that Dean was alone, Castiel would sit on the bed next to him, watching, unsure why he felt the physical presence and closeness was necessary, but just as certain that it was the right thing to do. On the third night, Dean reached out in his sleep and wrapped his arms around the waist of the angel...

\--

Most nights, Dean could swear he felt eyes on him while he slept. But he'd felt that for most of his life--spending most nights sleeping in a shared motel room with one eye open tends to do that to a man. But lately it felt different. It wasn't the sensation of his father or his brother watching his back; it wasn't the feeling of something lurking in the dark, waiting. He couldn't put a finger on it, but it felt good; it felt safe. The last words his mother ever spoke to him echoed in his mind: "Angels are watching over you." Maybe it was true. He'd met an angel. Met a few of them, in fact. Mostly, they were dicks, but there was one--Castiel--who, while still dickish, seemed to favor humanity a bit more than his brethren, and was beginning to grow on him, if in a sort of warped, dysfunctional way. After all, he had saved him from Hell and had since saved both his and Sam's lives on more than one occasion.

Sam. Sam was lost to him now. Lost to Ruby, lost to the blood. Dean was truly alone for the first time in his life. But he still felt a warm presence around him as he drifted to sleep. It was strange; it wasn't something he expected to feel after losing the only family he had left, but each night, he drifted off with relative ease in its embrace. One night, half-roused from a nightmare, he could have sworn that he saw Castiel sitting on his bed and holding him to give him comfort. But that was impossibly absurd. He wrapped his arms around the extra pillow on the bed, and fell back into a restless sleep.


	2. II

Castiel was just as surprised as Dean was to have arrived in purgatory. He knew that godly weapons tended to have a bit of a kick to them, but this was much more than he had anticipated. Neither of them belonged there, but while Dean was a minor irritation to the system--a grain of sand in an oyster--Castiel was a disease, a virus to be eradicated. His arrival was a beacon leading the monsters to them both, and he could hear them closing in. With no time to explain or apologize, Castiel disappeared. He knew that Dean would think he'd abandoned him, taken a coward's way out, left him for dead. But this was the only way that Castiel knew of to make sure Dean stayed safe in his first moments in purgatory. Castiel spent the entirety of the next several months trying to find Dean again.

\--

As soon as Dean had realized where he was, what had happened, Castiel disappeared. Dean cursed himself silently for believing that, despite everything he'd done, Castiel was any less of a dickless coward than the rest of his angel bretheren. This silent curse lasted only a moment as Dean heard the incursion of monsters. He reached for his knife and fought the first of countless battles for his life that became part of the day-to-day in purgatory. Within a matter of weeks, he was exhausted, unsure if he could go on like this for much longer. He could only sleep here and there, an hour or two at a time. He had to stay alert, he had to stay moving. As much as he was sure that purgatory wanted to purge him, he was equally sure that its natives wanted to ensure he never got out. The day that he was certain that he had no more fight left in him, he met Benny. Benny saved his life, and over the course of several months challenged and changed Dean's prejudices against monsters. He also gave Dean a renewed strength to search for Castiel. Despite the fact that he'd abandoned him in their first moments in purgatory, Dean never really stopped looking for him.


	3. III

The odds of locating Dean in purgatory were slim to none. Yet one day, after nearly a year, Castiel very nearly literally stumbled across his path. But he was with someone. A vampire. A monster. A confused monster who seemed to believe that he, Castiel, was his aunt. Dean introduced him as Benny. Castiel felt a mixture of emotions that he couldn't quite identify upon his reunion with Dean and making the acquaintance of his new companion. But before any of that could take form, Dean wrapped Castiel in a tight embrace, which the angel timidly, but gratefully reciprocated. 

As the trio searched for the seam that would return them topside, Benny constantly tried to convince Dean to get rid of Castiel. His presence was a beacon to their location. He was mentally unstable. He was weak. These were the reasons why he had abandoned Dean in the first place. He didn't want to compromise his safety. He didn't want to slow him down. But upon finding Dean again, and upon hearing Dean's lambast about disappearing in the first place, he realized that he had very nearly broken his heart. Castiel weighed whether he thought he could abandon Dean for his safety at the expense of his love and trust for him, and he realized that he couldn't do it again. Dean would have to leave him instead.

\--

When Castiel, beaten, dirty, and broken, stumbled across his path, Dean was sure that he was dreaming again. How many times in his short snatches of slumber had he seen the angel's face, dirtied, bloodied, and covered in scruff? Yet there he was, real as life. What followed was a fog until finally Dean felt Castiel's body against his, his arms wrapped around the angel almost desperately, as if life itself would slip away were he to let go. As Castiel's arms closed weakly around him, Dean's head cleared in time to hear Benny's warning about the monsters that were coming.

Dean soon learned that Castiel's presence was as much a liability as it was an asset. He was an extra set of eyes and a competent enough hunter, but any time he used his angelic powers, they found themselves running for days. As many times as Castiel had saved them, he'd put them in danger just as much. Dean knew this, and he knew that Benny was right to insist they should leave him behind. By all accounts, they should, given how Castiel had left Dean for dead seconds after they appeared in purgatory. But for some reason, Dean couldn't, and he vowed that they would both get out alive. 

\--

Castiel would have probably died in purgatory had Dean not found him when he did. He'd all but given up hope; his mind and spirit broken by constant vigilance and unbearable guilt. It was his fault they were here. The first night he spent watching over Dean again, he felt a renewed purpose. Castiel had carved out a useful niche as a night watchman, as he required no sleep. Benny laid off him for the most part after he realized that he and Dean could get a more solid night's rest. As he kept watch one night, Castiel laid down on the ground next to Dean. He wasn't quite sure why he did this, as he had neither the desire nor the need to rest, and in fact, he was still keeping a keen watch. And for as much as he couldn't explain his first action, he doubly could not explain why he then wrapped an arm around Dean's shoulders. But somehow, it felt right.

Every night that followed, as soon as Castiel was certain Dean was asleep, he would lay on the ground next to him and hold him. "All I meant was to protect you, to keep you safe," he whispered, almost silently, to Dean's sleeping form, "But this is my fault. I must do penance." Castiel already knew what he meant by this--he was resolved to save Dean but stay behind in purgatory.

\--

The first time he slept after finding Castiel, Dean felt something he hadn't felt in a long time: he felt safe. It was ridiculous, of course, he wasn't safe, but he felt a sensation of protective warmth that he'd long associated with Castiel's presence as he slept. He began to get more rest as the angel kept watch. Some nights Dean would swear he was back sleeping in some nameless highway motel with Castiel sitting perched in a chair across the room doing...whatever it was he did while the rest of the world slept. Other nights, he dreamt, as he often had, that Castiel was instead beside him, holding him.

One night, Dean's eyes shot open as he thought heard something. He laid still to listen, holding his breath, hoping the dark would conceal him a moment longer. He felt his stomach lurch as he realized Castiel laid on the ground next to him, the angel's arm flopped across Dean's middle. 'Whatever it is already got him. They're still here. Why am I still alive?' Dean's mind raced as he tried to stay slient. His eyes searched the dark for Benny, his form laying on the ground a few yards away. Dean couldn't tell if he was alive or dead, and calling out to him would only seal his own fate. It would be quieter to go to him. As Dean shifted to move, he felt something grip him around his waist. He reacted, rolling to pin and kill whatever had grabbed him. As he raised his knife, he caught a flash of bright blue in the dim light and heard Castiel choke out in a forceful whisper, "Dean! Stop!"


	4. IV

"What the hell, Cas?!" 

Dean practically spat the words as he lowered the knife. Castiel looked up at Dean in terror, not because he'd nearly been killed, but because he had no explanation. 

"I-- I must have fallen asleep," Castiel stammered. A lie, and a bad one at that. Dean's eyes narrowed, and he shifted the knife's position to near the angel's throat.

"Bull. You don't sleep. So I'll ask you again: what the hell?" Dean's voice was meant to sound angry, but Castiel had long since learned the difference between when Dean was truly angry and when he was just covering his own fear. But a scared Dean was still a dangerous Dean. Castiel searched Dean's eyes as if they somehow held the answer to getting out of this situation gracefully. He shifted beneath the hunter and found his answer, or at least an answer, as he felt the warmth of Dean's body against his cold arms.

"I was cold," Castiel tried, hoping that Dean would not see the embarrassment in his face.

"Yeah, well most people just put on a sweater," Dean retorted as he put his knife away and released Castiel from the full-body pin. He gave Dean a confused look as he sat up.

"I did not bring a sweater, Dean. These are the only clothes I have."

"Sweater, coat, whatever. It's an expression, jackass. Here. Borrow mine," Dean picked up the folded jacket he'd been using as a pillow and threw it at Castiel's head. Still somewhat stunned, Castiel allowed it to hit him in the face and drop into his lap.

Dean walked over to check on Benny, who hadn't moved the entire time. "Told you he was trouble," the vampire said quietly to Dean.

\--

Dean laid back down on the ground. He probably wasn't going to sleep anymore, but he felt it was worth it to try or at least worth it to calm down a little. What was that crazy angel thinking? He wasn't sleeping; he wasn't cold. For a split second, Dean's mind drifted to all the times that he'd dreamt that Castiel was holding him in his sleep. 'No...' Dean thought, trying to shake the notion from his head. He'd always questioned the nature of those dreams--why did he have them, why did they make him feel safe rather than uncomfortable, why did he so often reach out and hold the angel back--but they were just dreams. He'd had them when Castiel was missing. Though some of them could have been real...

Dean shook his head again, trying to put the thought out of his mind. He looked over at Castiel, who now sat cross-legged on the ground several yards away, looking stunned, and wearing Dean's coat. 'Maybe he really was just cold,' Dean thought, but he couldn't quite let go of the feeling that Castiel's arm around him was for more than just warmth.

\--

'How could you be such a fool, Castiel?' 

The angel scolded himself over and over as he sat watching Dean as he laid back down several yards away. He did feel a slight chill now, come to think of it, though he wasn't sure if it was the air or just shock. He wrapped Dean's jacket around him and pulled in its scent--sweat, dirt, blood...even a hint of the Impala remained embedded in its fabric. He'd miscalculated. Somehow he'd misinterpreted the one thing about Dean he thought he was sure about. How many nights had they held each other? Was Dean still angry at him? Was it because of Benny? Castiel's mind raced but lingered on that last thought. He felt something tighten and twist in his abdomen. He looked down, thinking that perhaps Dean had stabbed him after all, but found no wound. He considered this for a moment as the pieces fell into a shocking realization: He was in love with Dean Winchester, and he was jealous.


	5. V

At first, Dean wasn't sure what tortured him more, that his brother never tried to find him or that he'd left Castiel behind. But he could always forgive Sam. Forgiving himself, however, was a different story. For all the wrong he'd done, Castiel was still the reason Dean was not still in Hell. He was the reason that Sam was not still being tortured by Lucifer and Michael. And even after all of the ways he had wronged Dean and his brother, Castiel always tried to put it right in the end. And that was why Dean could not forgive himself for leaving the angel in purgatory with no means of escape. He couldn't forgive himself for how he shut Castiel out after the night he was only trying to stay warm. That night played over and over in Dean's mind almost as much as the moment he pushed Castiel down before going through the Seam. After that night, Castiel's familiar protective warmth became much cooler. And now that he was trapped in purgatory, it was completely gone. Dean came to realize that even when he was in purgatory and believed Castiel to be lost to him, he could still faintly feel his warmth as he slept. But now there was nothing. 

'Cas is dead, and it's my fault.'

\--

Castiel never intended to return with Dean; a life in purgatory was to be his penance for all the destruction he had caused. He was no better than the monsters here. In fact, he felt he might even be worse. On the night that Dean nearly killed him as a result of his miscalculation about their relationship, Castiel realized that it was the last time he would ever hold Dean again. By the time the reached the Seam, Castiel believed he had come to terms with this, but as he let go of Dean's hand and pushed him into the light, a sob rose in his throat, and he fell to his knees in agony as every bit of his insides twisted and writhed. Dean was gone. He was alone. He was going to die.

Castiel did not move from that spot for two days. Although he did not require it, he slept, in hopes that a monster would take him as easy prey and end his suffering quickly. At first, he had fitful dreams of everything that weighed upon him--echoes of his massacre in Heaven, the rage and hunger of the Leviathan that had lived inside him, his destruction of Sam's mind. He had done terrible things. He had betrayed everyone. Nothing could make it right. He laid on the bare rock face, looking upward at the pale sky, hoping for the end. He closed his eyes again, but this time he felt a different weight upon him. It was physical, warm, human. It was familiar...but how?

"Are you going to get up, or am I going to have to carry your feathery ass?"

Castiel opened his eyes to see Dean looming over him, straddling his body and resting his arms on his chest. He looked around to see that he was no longer laying on a rock face, but rather in a field with a bright blue sky above him. "How am I..." he began, but Dean cut him off.

"No time for questions, you need to get up. You need to move."

"But, you're sitting on me," Castiel replied, still thoroughly confused.

"Because you need to get up," Dean repeated.

Castiel attempted to move beneath Dean, but found his body wouldn't respond.

"MOVE!" Dean yelled as Castiel continued to struggle.

Castiel's eyes snapped open and he saw the pale sky of purgatory and felt the rock face beneath him. In the distance, he heard rustling. Finally, the end was coming. He closed his eyes again. He felt a figure close in and wrap itself around him. He braced for the pain he expected next, but none came. Just warmth. He opened his eyes again, this time to the semi-darkness of a dingy motel room. Beneath him was a bed, and beside him...no...coiled around him was a lightly snoring Dean Winchester. He smiled faintly, and gently touched Dean's face. Suddenly, Dean sat bolt upright and looked at Castiel, panic behind his eyes. Castiel's mind flicked to that night in purgatory, and his stomach lurched. He'd done it again.

"Cas, you've got to go. Now," Dean said, urgently.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean..." Castiel started to apologize. He wanted to explain this time; he wanted to confess. 

"Cas, you have to leave. They're going to kill you," Dean attempted to shove Castiel off the bed, but it seemed no force could move him. He heard a low growling coming from all around him. The sound was menacing, familiar, but he couldn't place it. It scratched at a memory in the back of his mind--something important that he needed to remember.

"Cas! Go!" Dean shouted, shoving the angel with all of his strength.

Castiel awoke with his body tumbling violently down the rock face where he'd been laying. He heard growls and barks in the distance. He attempted to right himself, managing to get to his feet. Dizzy and disoriented, he ran as fast as he could from the sound.

\--

Dean wasn't sleeping much. When he did sleep, all he dreamt about was purgatory and Castiel. Too often, Dean's dreams about Castiel would begin happily--friendly, if awkward banter in the Impala with the angel riding shotgun, the forever recurring reverie of holding Castiel while they slept--but they would always end with Dean pushing Castiel away to save himself, just as he'd done to escape purgatory. When he dreamt about purgatory, Castiel was always there, dirty, bloody, dying...and cold. One night, Dean awoke from one such dream, sat up, and said into the darkness, "I know you weren't cold; you were holding me."

He laid back down, wrapping his arms around his pillow and exhaling sharply. He wasn't exactly sure when it had occurred to him that not all of his dreams about Castiel were actually dreams. Some of them were, for certain, but not all of them. Many of the nights when he awoke to find himself entwined with the angel, those were real. Yet neither ever spoke of it. The night in purgatory, when Dean had nearly killed Castiel, by then, he already suspected. Yet in his panic that he'd lost Castiel and that he, himself, was about to die, his reaction upon realizing what had happened was neither what he intended nor what he expected. Purgatory had left him raw, like an exposed nerve, and more than ever, his actions were not always reflective of what he meant or what he felt.


	6. VI

"Cas...Cas...wake up, you've got to go."

Dean's voice echoed inside Castiel's head as he opened his eyes. He still didn't need to sleep, but he found that the occasional respite helped with the clarity of mind and purpose that his penance in purgatory was bringing him. And for whatever reason, whenever danger was near, Castiel would dream about Dean. The dreams began restfully--lazy afternoon rides in the Impala, cool nights with Dean's arms around his waist as he slept--but they ended with Dean shouting a warning, 'You've got to leave Cas; you've got to go.'

Castiel stood and looked around, listening carefully. Leviathan. He moved to run away from the sound, but it came from everywhere. As he heard them draw closer, he chose a direction and ran. He heard the Leviathan close behind him, gaining quickly, and saw several more ahead of him. He cut to his right and ran toward a thick grove of trees, hoping to find some cover. He ran through the grove, hoping that there were no Leviathan on the other side. He emerged on a road, and the sound of the Leviathan had vanished.

\--

Dean was pretty sure he had finally cracked. After everything that he had seen, done, been through, losing Castiel was the final straw. Now he was seeing him everywhere, not just in dreams, though the dreams had become more vivid. Castiel had begun insisting that he'd returned from purgatory and he needed Dean's help. 'Cas is dead,' he would silently remind himself every time he awoke from these dreams or he rushed out of a diner or did a double-take at a figure walking alongside the road, thinking he'd seen his friend. Each time, it was as if a vise was squeezing Dean's heart tighter and tighter. 

Late one night, as Dean sat awake sifting through missing persons reports, trying not to sleep, trying to avoid dream-Castiel, a storm rolled in. With a flash of lightning, Dean swore he saw Castiel in the window. The first time, he shook it off. The second time, however, he tossed the laptop aside, and walked to the window. Sam sat up, awakened by Dean's sudden movement. 

"Dean? What's going on?"

\--

Castiel didn't know how, and he didn't know why, but he was no longer in purgatory. As soon as he realized this, he immediately tried to locate the Winchesters, but he was weak. Very weak. He discovered that they weren't hard to locate, but instead of teleporting to them, he could only appear briefly as a weak, speechless apparition. He tried communicating with them in their dreams, but Sam never seemed to see him. Dean was another story. Dean saw him, listened to him, and interacted with him, but yet Dean had not come to find him.

Castiel would have considered the effort completely futile, except in breaking into Dean's dreams, he found a version of himself already there--a version of himself that he had long wished he could be--the Castiel that Dean did not look straight through, the Castiel that Dean loved as much as Castiel loved him. This discovery gave Castiel a sort of renewed strength. And though it hurt like the fires of Hell trying to burst forth from his skull, Castiel willed himself to Dean's side. 

\--

Dean stood in the bathroom, looking past his own reflection in the mirror as Sam was telling him about another strange kidnapping. His confession to Sam about seeing Castiel the night before and the apparition of the angel in the window swam in his mind. He leaned over the sink as the knot in his stomach tightened again. 'Cas is dead,' he reminded himself again, 'Cas is dead, and it's my--'

"Hello, Dean."

The words and the appearance of the angel's reflection in the bathroom mirror barely began to register in Dean's mind before he heard a crash behind him as Castiel fell to the floor. Dean turned around, eyes wide, to see the dirty, crumpled figure at his feet. 'It's not real. Cas is dead,' he insisted as he knelt down and touched the very solid, very real figure of the unconscious angel.

\--

He wasn't sure if he was more stunned by the pain, by his success, or simply by seeing Dean standing before him, but the last thing he remembered was choking out the words, "Hello, Dean," as the world melted away from him.

Castiel remembered little of the weeks that followed. Just snapshots and feelings, really, tiny moments suspended in eternities he couldn't remember. Dean's eyes on him as he emerged, finally clean, from the shower. Prophets. Tablets. Talking to a cat. An angel's torture. Testing the waters with Dean. Rejection. Crowley killing Meg. Killing Dean. Killing Dean. Killing Dean...

\--

Castiel was acting strange. Not "just spent two years in purgatory" strange, not "Castiel doesn't get humans" strange, but "weird even for Castiel" strange. Dean couldn't shake the feeling that there was something very wrong with the way that the angel had escaped purgatory. At first, he was shocked and relieved to see him alive. But as he had more time to adjust and absorb, Dean realized that the Castiel that had returned to him was neither the Castiel he had left in purgatory, nor the Castiel he had known before. The one normal moment Dean had felt was the angel's nearly aloof realization of his filth, and his disappearance back into the bathroom where he had initially reappeared. 

Dean sat, waiting, as Castiel cleaned up and Sam provided new details about their latest case. A rumbling clatter came from the bathroom, and Dean stood, with a start. He halted about halfway between his seat and the bathroom and turned to Sam.

"I'd better check on him," Dean said.

Sam nodded once and looked back at his laptop. Dean's Castiel 'secret' was getting old, but his respect for his older brother kept him from speaking a word. Sam knew better than to cross that line.  
Dean tapped a knuckle on the bathroom door. Without waiting, he opened it.

"Cas? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Dean," came Castiel's gruff voice from behind the shower curtain. Dean saw the silhouette of him rise from the floor of the bathtub.

"Sorry, man, thought I heard something," Dean said quickly, and backed out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes, and memorizing the shadow of Castiel behind the shower curtain. Dean walked back to the table and sat down across from Sam, who continued to stare at his laptop. Several minutes later, Castiel stepped out of the bathroom, clean from head to toe--clothes included.

"Better," he intoned.

Dean tensed. He looked Castiel over--twice. It was like seeing a ghost. The old Castiel. The angel who watched over him. He was beautiful.


	7. VII

"How did you get out of purgatory, Cas?"

Dean held the block of stone containing the angel tablet as Castiel looked at it intently, ignoring Dean's question.

"Be honest with me..."

\--

Dean's voice was faint in Castiel's ears, as if he were miles way, even though he was three feet in front of him. Castiel drew his blade.

"Cas...I don't know what the hell is wrong with you...you don't have to do this," Dean's voice pleaded, as if from another world.

"I won't hurt Dean," he growled, seemingly at no one. "What have you done to me, Naomi?"

Castiel grabbed his head as Dean reached for his shoulder.

\--

"Who's Naomi?" Dean was confused by Castiel's utterance, only to be stunned by the sudden onslaught of the angel's fist.

Dean tried to protect the slab encasing the tablet, only to find that Castiel seemed programmed to take it from him. Dean is terrified, seeing his friend, his protector, in this state. Castiel threw him against a wall.

"Cas," Dean said weakly, looking up at the angel.

Dean pulled himself to his feet to confront Castiel as he advanced. Before Dean could make a move, Castiel grabbed the arm Dean was using to protect the rock slab and snapped it in half. The slab fell to the floor, shattering to reveal the Tablet of Angels. Castiel looked down at Dean, blade in hand.

"You want it? Take it!" Dean dared, hoping he could somehow reach the Castiel he knew, "But you'll have to kill me first."

Dean had taken this gamble before, with his brother, and lived. He wagered that whatever was controlling Castiel was not strong enough to overcome the feelings he knew the angel harbored for him. Despite all of his rejections, all of the times he didn't know how to respond to Castiel's awkward overtures, Dean was betting in this moment that Castiel couldn't kill him any more than his brother could.

\--

Castiel continued his onslaught against Dean, suddenly feeling as if he were watching himself from afar, hearing echoes of voices in his head.

_"End this, Castiel"_

_"Cas, this isn't you."_

_"You have to choose...us or them."_

_"Cas...please..."_

The world blurred, then came back into focus. Dean sat at Castiel's feet, bloodied and beaten. Castiel held the Word of God in his hand. He looked down at Dean with only a vague realization of what he'd done, and reached out to him.

"No, Cas, please..." Dean begged.

\--

Dean looked up at Castiel with terror. What had happened to him? Who was Naomi? Dean resigned himself to his end. His Castiel was lost to him. 

"Cas!" he shouted one last time, trying to reach the Castiel he knew.

Dean stared into Castiel's eyes as he looked down at him, pitilessly. Castiel touched his hand to Dean's face. Dean gasped, expecting the life to explode out of him. Instead, his pain vanished.

"I'm so sorry, Dean."

\--

It was as if Castiel could see and think clearly for the first time in weeks. He had betrayed Dean. Again. And he could hardly remember why.

"What the hell just happened?" Dean's voice echoed through the clearing fog in Castiel's mind. He could recall answering Dean's question about Naomi, but it was Dean's curiosity about what broke their connection that caused him to freeze. He may or may not have answered those questions. He didn't remember. Because what broke that connection was something he still could not confess. He had to leave. Everything he'd done had put Dean in danger, even if in the end, Dean was still safe.

The only reason Naomi could not control him, the only reason why the angels could not fully restore him to pure instinct, was because he had learned to love. And he loved Dean Winchester.

Castiel disappeared without a word. That he still had the Angel Tablet in his hands was of little consequence.


	8. VIII

_"You must have noticed how purgatory changed him...he's been unstable...I was shocked at how damaged he is now."_

_"You don't think I know that you told him to try and kill me?"_

_"I suppose that's how he would hear it..."_

_"I don't trust angels..."_

_"And yet you haven't warded this place against us. You're hoping Castiel will return to you. I admire your loyalty. I only wish he felt the same way. I know you don't want to believe it, but we're on the same side -- shutting the Gates of Hell, bringing Castiel in from the cold..."_

Dean's conversation with Naomi echoed in his head. He didn't trust her. And was it just an expression, or did she know about that night in purgatory? The more he thought about it, the more it ate away at him. Naomi was pushing his buttons, for certain, but it didn't change the fact that Dean had come to the realization that once again in his life, he needed someone more than they needed him. Castiel had become more than his friend, he was family. Dean realized that he couldn't stay angry at that stupid angel any more than he could stay angry at Sam.

But he was gone again. On one hand, Dean knew he was alive because he could feel the warmth of his protection at night, much as he had in purgatory. On the other hand, the warmth was almost exactly as he'd felt it on those nights alone in purgatory. It was weak. Castiel was playing hurt and trying to hide from heaven's newest megalomaniac.

Sam insisted they begin to ward against angels again, but at night, Dean would break the wards and stay awake, praying to Castiel.

"Dear Castiel, who art...wherever. I hope you have your ears on. Sammy ain't doing so well. You gotta come back, man, you gotta keep him safe."

Dean paused, looking up at the ceiling, trying to think of what to say. He wasn't sure if Castiel always listened, but this time, just in case, he wanted to get things just right.

"And Cas," he started again, "You're forgiven. I miss you. Come back to us. We'll keep you safe...I'll keep you safe. Somehow."

Dean sat and waited, hoping that he'd hear the familiar flutter of Castiel's wings. Night after night he would break Sam's wards, pray, and wait. And when he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer, he'd paint back over them and stumble to bed.

\--

When Dean prayed, Castiel always listened. When he could hear him, anyway. And though he was terrified to return, he searched for Dean every night, over and over, and would always find him and hear him pleading for his return. But then he would disappear again until the next night. Weeks passed, and he heard Dean pray every night--protect Sam and come back. Castiel wasn't sure how to protect Sam--the Trials had damaged him in ways even he couldn't fix--and he still wasn't sure how to face Dean. He'd had plenty of time to think, and he occasionally slept as he had in purgatory to clear his head. Finally, he resolved to begin visiting Dean again, to watch over him invisibly, as he had so many times before. He had a short window. Undoubtedly, Sam was warding against angels, and Dean was breaking the wards to pray. He would have to be quiet.

"I'll keep you safe...somehow..."

Dean prayed the same words to him every night. Castiel was sure he'd meant it. With a flutter of wings, he arrived in Dean's room at the Men of Letters' former headquarters. Dean was nowhere in sight. Castiel tucked himself invisibly into a corner.

\--

It was late when Dean stumbled back to his room. While repainting the wards had become a sort of meditative catharsis every time Castiel never appeared, Dean still felt that a good glass of whiskey was the best way to put the angel out of his mind for the night. Tonight, though, he'd finished the bottle. It had been over a month since he'd heard from Castiel or felt more than his distant existance. Sure, he was alive, but what did that matter if Dean couldn't be close to him?

Dean didn't even bother removing his boots. He stumbled face first onto his bed and dropped off into a drunken slumber. As he drifted, he thought it felt a bit warmer than usual.

\--

Castiel stood invisibly, silent, and motionless in the corner as Dean staggered into the room. His legs hit the edge of his bed as he fell forward and sank into the memory foam mattress.

"Fuck you, too, Cas," he slurred. 

Castiel was taken aback for a moment, thinking that Dean had somehow seen him, but quickly realized that Dean was too drunk to have any idea what he was saying or doing. Castiel was briefly tempted to move from his corner, to remove Dean's boots, and to pull a blanket over him. But he immediately thought better of it. 'Not yet,' he thought.

\--

Dean awoke once from his stupor, only to swear he saw Castiel standing in the corner. But that was impossible. Castiel never came when Dean prayed, and the wards were solid again. But it did feel warmer. It was probably the booze. Those Men of Letters kept some good stuff. Dean shuffled to the kitchen for some water, realizing halfway that he was still wearing shoes. Upon his return to bed, he shed them and curled his body around a pillow. 

"Where are you?"

\--

It was all Castiel could do not to reveal himself, not to move toward Dean's huddled figure on the bed. 'Not yet,' he repeated silently to himself.

Nearly another month passed. Dean kept praying, and Castiel would silently come and keep watch over him. So much had happened, and it seemed that he may have lost the trust of the younger Winchester for good. Outwardly, one would think the same of Dean, but Castiel still heard his prayers every night--the same words, pleading for his return, insisting on his forgiveness. And though Castiel had returned, he didn't know how to approach Dean again. So much had gone wrong. Sam. Leviathan. Purgatory. Naomi. Castiel may have pulled Dean from Hell, but he'd built a new one around him and his brother. He wasn't sure how anyone could truly be forgiven for that.

\--

While Dean was persistent, he also knew a lost cause when he saw one. He'd clung to Castiel for long enough. Three months of breaking Sam's wards. Three months of praying. The universe was a cruel, teasing bitch, bringing Castiel back to him and immediately ripping him away again. He'd have given up months ago had it not been for the warmth he felt that one, drunken night. But Dean had to accept, again, that Castiel was not coming back. 

\--

Castiel stood outside of the Men of Letters headquarters as he had every night for three months. He waited for the wards to drop and to hear Dean's voice. Except it never came. Castiel stood outside until dawn, waiting, before teleporting back to where he had been hiding--a comfortable, if a bit musty and damp, basement of an old library. He returned the next night, and the next, and the next. He could sense the Winchesters inside, but the wards never dropped; Dean's prayers never came. Days turned into weeks, and each night Castiel stood there, looking forlornly at the bunker, the closest he could now get to Dean Winchester without risking being found.


	9. IX

Sam was getting worse. He tried to hide it, but Dean saw him fading right before his eyes. He was thinner. He couldn't focus. He coughed up blood every day. Sometimes he'd sleep for days. Kevin had contacted Dean weeks ago, having translated the third Trial, but Dean never told Sam. He couldn't. He wouldn't let Sam kill himself to shut the gates of Hell. He'd rather hunt demons for the rest of his life with his brother at his side than live in a demon-free world without him.

Dean sat at his desk, absently cleaning one of his guns. He always found the process calming, almost meditative. Down the hall, he heard a loud crash. Dean leapt to his feet and ran out of the room.

"Sammy?" he called out.

"I'm fine, Dean," came a weak reply. 

Sam was a crumpled heap at the bottom of the stairs. A trickle of blood ran down his forehead, and yet more blood was dried at the corner of his mouth.

"Dammit, Sammy, you're not fine," Dean said, hauling Sam to his feet. Sam leaned on Dean for support as his legs refused to hold his whole weight.

"What were you doing, anyway?" Dean asked.

"Just...just wandering around a bit, stretching my legs" Sam replied. Dean narrowed his eyes, giving his brother a look that clearly communicated, 'I don't believe you, but I'm not going to make you tell me.'

"You should have let me find another hellhound," Dean admonished Sam as he helped his brother back to his room. He expected Sam to protest, like he always did when Dean started talking about taking on the Trials himself, but the argument never came. Sam's head lolled slightly against Dean's shoulder as Dean helped him to bed.

"Let me take a look at your head," Dean said, searching Sam's scalp for the source of the blood on his forehead, "Alright, at least it's not too bad."

Dean pulled a rag out of his pocket and held it to his brother's head. He propped Sam up on pillows against the headboard. "You know the drill. Hold it there 'til it stops bleeding; don't fall asleep," Dean instructed.

"I've hit my head plenty of times, Dean. I'm good. Really. I just got a little dizzy," Sam said, trying to sound as normal as possible, trying to reassure his brother.

Dean gave Sam a skeptical look, but resigned to the fact that he was never going to admit how bad off he was.

"Yell if you need anything. Seriously, dude, don't get up," Dean said, backing out of Sam's room. He walked back down the hall.

"Cas, where are you?" he said, under his breath. The words caught him by surprise as they reached his ears, as if they'd been spoken by someone else. He'd barely had time to think of anything other than Sam and the Trials since the night he stopped praying to Castiel. He hadn't dreamt of the angel in weeks, and this moment was the first in months that his name had crossed Dean's lips. He exhaled sharply and sat back down at his desk, looking at the disassembled firearm setting in front of him. He stared at it for a moment, but wasn't really looking at it. He stood again, turned, and walked out of the room, down the hall, up the stairs, and out of the bunker.

\--

Castiel knew he was taking a risk every time he stood out in the open, in front of the Men of Letters bunker, watching over Dean the only way he could. Certainly, it had been possible to make contact with him elsewhere--the many times he went out in the Impala for supplies or to work a case--but Castiel didn't have the words he needed to explain, to apologize, and he had learned that the right words matter as much in the tongues of man as they do in the language of the angels. Sometimes more.

He stood in the same place each night, about a hundred yards from the recessed entrance of the bunker, near a grove of trees. Every night, he'd stand, silent and motionless, keeping watch, but also waiting. Waiting for the wards to break, waiting to hear Dean praying, waiting for...something.

"Cas, where are you?"

The words struck Castiel like lightning, burning through his body from his head to his feet. In those words, there was sadness, worry, pain, desperation...and longing. Prayer always conveyed the emotions of the sender to the recipient, but when Dean prayed to Castiel, the angel didn't just know what Dean was feeling, he felt it, too. He stood rooted to the spot, staring ahead, willing his insides to stop twisting and writhing. 'I can't help you, Dean. Not in there.'

Castiel's attention was quickly diverted by the metallic creaking of the bunker door.

\--  
Dean stepped out into the cool night air, taking gulping breaths as he willed himself not to cry. He closed the door and leaned against it, closing his eyes and trying to steady his breathing. His brother was dying; he was certain, and there was nothing he could do. And even if Castiel hadn't disappeared, there was nothing that he could do for Sam, either. He took a deep breath as he opened his eyes and walked up the concrete steps in front of the door. He stood at the top of them, surveying the dimly illuminated field and scattered groves of trees and clusters of brush that surrounded the entrance. In front of the grove nearest to him, Dean saw the outline of a figure, standing motionless.

"Aw, crap," he said to himself, as he placed a hand on his gun. He debated for a moment whether to approach, or to go back inside. The bunker was safe, warded against everything he knew of, and probaby a few things he didn't. But with things still the way they were with Heaven, Hell, the tablets, the Trials...Dean couldn't risk having anyone whom he had not personally vetted knowing where he and Sam were. He walked forward toward the unmoving figure.

\--

Castiel saw the unmistakable outline of Dean climbing the stairs out of the recessed bunker entrance. His heart quickened and suddenly, he found himself unable to move. He willed his wings to take him away before Dean looked out toward the grove and saw him, but no part of him, angel or vessel, would budge. He stood fast, his eyes wide, his body shaking. Dean's figure began to advance in his direction.

\--

Dean headed toward the shadowed figure, walking slowly, but with purpose, keeping his eyes trained on it. As he drew nearer, he noticed the light breeze was causing a flutter of fabric around the otherwise motionless figure. He squinted in the darkness, attempting to make out more detail to identify the unknown person as friend or foe before he got too close. Slivers of moonlight filtered through the trees as their branches moved in the light wind, casting different lights and shadows across the person's outline. A strong gust blew through, bending the treetops just so that Dean briefly made out the details of the figure's face. He stopped cold in his tracks.

\--

Castiel's trenchcoat billowed around him with a gust of wind, and a beam of moonlight flashed through the bending trees behind him, illuminating his face. Dean's approaching figure stopped, suddenly. Castiel exhaled, realizing he had been holding his breath, willing himself to disappear, willing Dean not to see him, willing time to stop until he had the words he needed.

\--

"Cas..." 

The name tumbled from Dean's mouth like a reflex. He was barely aware he'd spoken. His head swam and his body burned with emotion--relief, anger, grief...

Love.

Dean took a step forward, his feet feeling as if they'd suddenly turned to stone. Castiel still had not moved. Dean began to wonder if he was seeing things, or if this was some sort of trick. 

\--

The wind carried Dean's utterance of Castiel's name to his ears. It was the first time he'd truly heard Dean's voice in so very long. He'd given up trying to vanish. Dean had seen him. He was closing fast. What to say? What to tell him? How to tell him?

Castiel attempted a step forward. To his surprise, his legs responded. He attempted another. Success. He walked slowly in Dean's direction.

\--

The form of Castiel finally moved. Dean watched as he dragged himself forward, seeing the distance between them close twice as quickly. He couldn't decide whether he wanted to hug Castiel or shoot him. He'd decide when he got there.

\-- 

Castiel was just yards from Dean when he finally made eye contact. The two kept on toward each other, and the angel felt Dean's arms around him and warmth against him. 'What to say? How to start?' Castiel's mind raced, caring about nicities and intricacies of human interaction that he'd never been fussed with before. He leaned the majority of his weight into Dean's embrace, hoping he didn't have to speak first. 'A little more time,' he thought, as he scrambled for the words he needed.

\--

It was all Dean could do not to sprint across the final distance. He wanted to, but he was still wary that this apparition was not truly Castiel. The moment he met the angel's piercing eyes, however, he knew. He knew that for all the things he'd done, for all his absence, his forgiveness of Castiel was complete and absolute. A warmth bloomed from the center of Dean's chest as he wordlessly wrapped his arms around Castiel.

\--

"Dean..."

The only word Castiel could force to his lips. He repeated it, less hesitantly, as he reciprocated Dean's embrace.

"Dean."

\--

Dean had several competing thoughts for what he wanted to say to Castiel. At least two were variations on the sentiment of 'fuck you.' The rest were expressions of astonishment at his presence. But what came out of his mouth was barely intelligible.

"Fuck. What are you came here?"

\--

When Dean spoke, Castiel barely registered the words. His ears rushed with the sound of his voice, and his body thrilled involuntarily at his touch. He was fairly certain that whatever Dean had said, it made no sense anyway, but there was complete forgiveness there, both in his tone and his embrace. Castiel still had no words.


	10. X

"Where have you been, Cas?" Dean finally asked, breaking the silence between them and pulling away to look into the angel's eyes. His hands gripped Castiel's upper arms tightly.

Castiel looked back at Dean, opening his mouth to apologize, trying to avoid the question, but instead, the truth forced its way out.

"Here, mostly."

\--

Dean staggered backward a step, knocked off balance both physically and emotionally at Castiel's reply. He wasn't sure what kind of answer he was expecting from the angel, but it certainly wasn't that.

"You were... _here_ ," Dean said, gesturing his head to indicate the spot where they stood.

"Yes," Castiel replied, "Well, more accurately, over there." He turned his head slightly and nodded toward the place where he had been standing earlier.

Dean blinked, slowly processing what this meant. 

"Here," he repeated, pausing for a moment, "the whole time?"

"Every night since you stopped praying," Castiel said.

Dean considered this response as the pieces began to fall into place in his mind. Since he stopped praying. That was months. And Castiel knew he had stopped, which meant he'd been listening...

"And before that?" Dean asked, now trying to get to the bottom of why Castiel had been ignoring his pleas.

Castiel's eyes broke from Dean's gaze and his face fell.

\--

Castiel was ashamed that he'd never revealed himself to Dean all those nights that he'd silently and invisibly watched over him. All that time, Castiel knew that Dean's pleas and promises were sincere, but he couldn't bring himself to believe that he would truly be forgiven. He wasn't worthy of it.

He stood, slouched and silent, staring at Dean's shoes and feeling Dean's hands still gripped tight on his shoulders. After several moments, he looked up at Dean, his eyes pleading for forgiveness and understanding.

"I watched over you."

\--  
"You...you watched over me," Dean said incredulously, "you watched over me? What the hell does that mean?"

Dean's tone rose from confused to slightly angry. Was Castiel really telling him that he'd been there the whole time he'd been praying for him to return, only never revealing himself? 

"I--," Castiel began to reply, but Dean cut him off.

"Are you saying that you were actually here...there...the whole time, and you never said anything, you never helped?"

Castiel nodded soberly, shame covering his face. "Dean, I...I'm sorry. I wanted to--"

"You wanted to what?" Dean snapped, breaking his hold on Castiel's arms and pushing him away, "You wanted to stand there like some creepy peeping angel and watch me and Sam's lives fall apart? Do you get off on that?"

\--

Every one of Dean's words struck Castiel like a body blow. He had to explain himself. He had to make Dean understand. The words he needed didn't exist, but the feelings did. It was the only way. 

"Dean...forgive me."

The words were less of a plea, and more of a command. He stepped forward and gripped Dean's upper arms in the way Dean had just been holding his. Taking a deep breath, Castiel leaned forward and pressed his lips against Dean's.

\--

Dean's words hung in the air on hooks of pure rage. He regretted them almost immediately, but they floated there, almost tangible, between him and Castiel. Dean was angry, for certain, at what the angel had just revealed to him, but the defeated demeanor Castiel took on after his tirade shocked Dean back to a state of alert calm.

The two stood in silence for several moments, Dean looking at Castiel and Castiel looking at the ground. Castiel looked up, and his demeanor changed. He squared himself with Dean, meeting his gaze. Dean was startled by the immediate shift, but had no time to react as Castiel moved toward him.

"Dean...forgive me," the angel said.

Before he could even think to respond, Dean felt Castiel's hands...

Then his lips...

Then his memories.


	11. XI

At first, the rush of images that pelted Dean's mind was overwhelming. It was too much, too fast, and he couldn't hold on to or understand any of it. After a moment, it slowed, and Dean began to absorb some of the things he was seeing. The images slowed further, becoming coherent scenes, memories. But not Dean's memories--Castiel's. Dean recognized himself in this memory, though barely. Through Castiel's eyes, Dean was a luminous being. As he looked around, he realized that everyone in the room seemed to have varying levels of luminescence, but Dean was by far the brightest. 'Is this what he sees all the time?' Dean wondered.

The scene shifted. Dean-as-Castiel laid in the half-dark of a motel room, a warm, gentle pulsating glow emitted from the slumbering figure next to him. Dean-as-Castiel turned to look at the lightly snoring Dean from Castiel's memory just as he reached out in his sleep to wrap his arms around the angel. A fluttering warmth grew up inside him as he felt a simultaneously familiar and unusual sensation of Castiel's wings and arms moving in tandem to envelop the sleeping figure of Dean.

'This is kind of messed up,' Dean thought, as Castiel's memory shifted again. And again. Some things, Dean remembered. Other things, he was never aware of. Each new scene revealed something new about Castiel--his feelings, his motivations, the way he perceived people, the way he saw Dean. 'Cas is ancient,' Dean found himself thinking as he watched memory after memory play out from the angel's point of view, 'So ancient...but to him, I'm--'

"The most beautiful soul I have ever seen," Dean heard the words in Castiel's voice, though he felt himself whispering them.

He looked around in the current memory--his room in the bunker, his own figure passed out drunkenly, half on his bed, boots still on. Dean remembered this night--sort of--all the nights Castiel never answered kind of began to blur together after awhile. But how did Castiel have this memory?

"Fuck you too, Cas," came Dean's slurred speech, muffled by the bed.

Dean-as-Castiel felt a panicked lurch in his insides, Castiel's thoughts echoing in his mind. 'He can't see me. Can he? He's drunk. I should take his boots off and put him on the bed properly. No. Not yet. No contact yet.'

Dean _did_ remember this night. It was warmer that night. It was the night that kept him praying for Castiel's return because he thought he'd felt him. He thought he'd seen him.

'Cas, why didn't you just show yourself? Why did you think you couldn't?' Dean thought, almost pleading with Castiel's memories to give him an explanation. Dean suddenly found himself-as-Castiel staring down at...himself. His face looked up at Castiel's, bloodied and pleading, but for some reason missing the characteristic glow that he'd grown accustomed to seeing through Castiel's eyes.

"No, Cas...No! Cas...don't...please."

Dean-as-Castiel felt no emotion as he buried his blade in the pleading Dean's chest. Lights flickered on above him, and he turned to see Naomi walking toward him. In the newly-illuminated room, Dean saw himself-as-Castiel surrounded by nearly a hundred crumpled, broken, bloody figures. As he looked closer, they were all him, and all dead.

If Dean could have been sick at that moment, he would have. Not at the sight of being surrounded by a hundred versions of his own dead body, but at the sudden duality of emotion and memory he was feeling in that particular moment from Castiel, almost as if he had experienced the scene twice, at the same time, in two different ways. The opposition of the two memories was disorienting, and Dean began to feel his mind slip from the grasp of Castiel's memories as fragments began to flash quickly and out of order and the duality of a cold, emotionless Castiel and the one that felt love for Dean and horror at what he'd done caused some kind of change in the connection Castiel had established in Dean's mind.

\--

Castiel had not expected this. He'd shared memories with Dean before, among many others, as it was much more expedient than explaining long, complicated things. But Dean was the first to push back, the first to take control.

'Why didn't you show yourself? Why did you think you couldn't?' Dean's thoughts echoed in Castiel's mind, forcing him to the memory he was most hesitant to share. He was hesitant not only because of what it bore, but because of the duality it contained. He was unsure of what effect that would have, two memories of the same event, superimposed into one. Dean's mind began to reject it, but Dean himself seemed to try to hold on. Castiel could feel Dean reaching, grasping at threads of his memories, suddenly catching at one. Castiel no longer had control over what Dean saw.

\--

Dean sat up in bed, staring around in the semi-dark. He was in a motel room, but in his sleepy fog, he didn't recall where. He was himself. 'That was one hell of a trip,' he thought, recalling the fading dream he'd just awoken from where he was Castiel. As many times as he'd dreamt about the angel, he'd never once dreamt that he _was_ the angel. He glanced at the bed across the room, checking on Sam. The bed was still made, and Sam wasn't on it. A sliver of light under the bathroom door caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. Sam must have stayed up late researching again and was just now getting to bed. Dean laid back down, about to close his eyes as he heard the bathroom door open. He propped himself up part-way on his arms, about to say something snarky to Sam, but the figure in the doorway was far too short to be his brother.

\--

'No,' Castiel thought to himself as he saw Dean laying on the bed in the otherwise empty motel room, 'He shouldn't even be able to see this. This isn't a memory.'

Castiel stepped out of the bathroom, his shirt unbuttoned and his tie draped over his shoulder. A tiny smile twitched involuntarily at his mouth as Dean sat up slightly to look at him.

\--

"Cas..." Dean croaked.

Dean found himself feeling that there was almost a script he was meant to follow. Castiel walked toward the bed and sat down next to Dean, looking down at him. Dean reached up to put a hand on Castiel's face. It was strange. Everything felt real, but what he was doing and what he wanted to do next had only ever happened in his most secret dreams. Even more, he still had no idea where he was or how he got there.

\--

Castiel tried to break his connection with Dean. It had all gone terribly wrong. Dean was in his dreams, not his memories. But the more he struggled to sever the link, the more quickly events in the dream accelerated, and Castiel was forced to watch helplessly from the eyes of his dream-self as Dean was an active witness to his deepest secrets.

\--

Dean slid Castiel's unbuttoned shirt off of his shoulders, and pushed it down his arms, tossing it to the foot of the bed. He ran a hand down Castiel's torso, stopping at his stomach and sliding an arm around his waist. He pulled him closer, wrapping his other arm around Castiel's shoulder and began to lightly stroke the edge of his shoulderblade with his thumb.

'What the hell am I doing?' Dean thought, feeling simultaneously in control of his actions and like he was on puppet strings. 

His face was inches from Castiel's. He could feel the angel's breath on his chin. His eyes had a faint glow to them, like a cat's. Something soft and invisible tickled at Dean's hands as they rested on and gently stroked the soft flesh on Castiel's back.

'I'm dreaming,' Dean concluded, 'I have to be. But wasn't I just...' Dean's mind flickered briefly to the field surrounding the bunker, the mysterious figure...Castiel. Had they been attacked? Had he been knocked out?

'No...' Dean came to a slow, horrifying realization. Castiel had been showing him memories. Their minds were linked. Somehow, that last one had gone wrong, and instead of Castiel transmitting memories, he was now receiving Dean's dreams.

\--

Castiel leaned in, pressing his lips and body against Dean's. Dean began to lean backward, pulling Castiel down on top of him. Dean's hands ran up and down Castiel's bare back as they continued to kiss, first lightly and gently, then heavier and hungrier. As the kisses deepened, so did the kneading of Dean's hands into Castiel's back. Castiel laced the fingers of one hand through Dean's short hair, and cupped Dean's face with the other.

"This has to stop," Castiel stated flatly, surprised that the thought that he had been screaming the whole time was actually given voice. 

\--

'No. There's no way in hell I can let Cas see this,' Dean thought over and over as his hands continued to trace and knead across Castiel's back. He slid his thumbs just under the waistband of Castiel's trousers and slid them outward toward his hips, his intended destination eventually being the front button and fly. Dean's hands had just reached Castiel's sides when Castiel spoke against his mouth, amidst the kisses.

"This has to stop."

Dean was simultaneously relieved and taken aback. He let go of Castiel, allowing him to roll off of him onto the bed.

"Yeah. Yeah...that's probably a good idea," Dean said, exhaling sharply and feeling full control return to him.

\--

It was far too late, but Castiel had somehow regained control of his link with Dean. In a blur of flashing images, he slowly pushed Dean's consciousness out of his mind. But before he could do so entirely, he needed to show Dean one more thing.

\--

A blur of images rapidly whizzed through Dean's mind again before he found himself sitting in a dusty old chair in a damp basement filled with heavy furniture and decaying shelves filled with even further decaying old books. He looked down at his hands and clothes to discover that he was, once again, Castiel inside Castiel's memories. A strange wave of relief washed over him as he fuzzily remembered where he had been last.   
He sat motionless in the dark, staring at nothing for what seemed like hours. Dean began to wonder why Castiel had brought him here, or if he'd brought him here at all. But then he heard his own voice, inside Castiel's head, speaking familiar words.

"Dear Castiel, who art...wherever the hell you are. Listen, Cas, you've got to come back to us. We need you...I need you. Sammy's getting worse. I don't know what to do, and I can't do this thing alone. Not again. I forgive you, Cas. I miss you. Come back to us. We'll keep you safe...I'll keep you safe. Somehow."

Castiel's body slouched in the chair as he reached to his right side and picked up a glass bottle without looking. He unscrewed the cap, and Dean recognized the burn of liquor as Castiel took gulp after gulp from the bottle, not pausing until it was empty. He let it drop to the floor where it clattered and rolled several feet, coming to rest at the base of a bookshelf.

"I can't, Dean," Castiel spoke into the empty darkness, "I don't know how to be forgiven."

Castiel reached to his right again, grasping another bottle. Dean could see out of the corner of Castiel's eye about a dozen more new bottles setting on the table beside him.

\--

In reality, where the two stood in the field outside the bunker, only a few seconds had passed. As he pulled his lips away from Dean's, he suddenly found himself acutely aware of the chill in the night air surrounding them. He looked up at Dean, only to find him staring back with what could only be described as slack-jawed incredulity.

"Dude. Did you just kiss me?" Dean asked, not angrily, but rather with a note of something else in his voice. 

"Yes," Castiel replied, somewhat hesitant, but still matter-of-fact in his tone, "It seemed the most efficient way to convey the information I needed you to--"

Castiel's explanation was cut short as Dean gripped his shoulders tightly and pulled him back close, pressing his lips firmly against the angel's.


End file.
